Author's Notes: For Cheeky Slytherin Lass, because I love her.
)O(
Everyone loved to compliment Rodolphus for his poise. For as long as Rabastan could remember, his brother was being told how good he was for never showing strong emotion, never allowing his self-restraint to slip. That was how a Pureblood boy should behave, people said.
By contrast, Rabastan overheard no shortage of mumbled comments about how he always looked sullen or nervous, and always, always weak. "For all the time he spends with his brother," they said, "you would think he would learn some self-control."
If anything, when Rodolphus and Rabastan were together, Rabastan taught his brother weakness.
Rodolphus let his dignity break only in the heat and safety of their shared bed, never in public, but that was enough to please Rabastan.
He enjoyed the sex itself – of course he did; you'd have to be mad not to. He liked the pain, the roughness, the weight of a strong, hard body pinning him to the bed, the heated kisses that bruised his lips.
But more than that, he enjoyed remembering that it was Rodolphus who was rutting against him – strong, stoic Rodolphus, always the picture of composure, fucking him until tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes. Rodolphus, who embodied the ideal for a young Pureblood gentleman, doing things that made Rabastan blush. That was the real pleasure.
What would their parents have thought if they saw their golden boy whimpering and begging so? They would surely be ashamed to think that the son that they loved so much – the son that they had betted the family's future on – was as weak and needy as his younger brother when the circumstances were right.
Making Rodolphus beg was the only power Rabastan had ever had.
)O(
Fin